


Tusk Love - COMING SOON!!

by CurrieBelle



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, It's exactly what it looks like, Love Triangles, and some very bad writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14071833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurrieBelle/pseuds/CurrieBelle
Summary: THIS SPRINGAcclaimed Author and Two-time Darrington Award Winner OLEANDER WICKReturns with an epic new tale of LOVE, BETRAYAL....and TUSKS.LADIES, GENTLEMEN, WATCHMASTERS and DRAGONS.....don't make me write more of this!!!





	Tusk Love - COMING SOON!!

**Author's Note:**

> Dearest Larry --
> 
> Olly's at it again, that saucy old coot! How this man can spin three hundred pages of heart-pounding romance in a handful of months I'll never know!! If Lionel stops by, let him do a little skim-through to make sure all the half-orcish anatomy is correct. (The prose re. the tusks can get VIVID. Oof!)
> 
> This is the preview he wants in the Deastok Gazette. I don't know why he wants us to SPOIL all the best PARTS but who am I to argue, eh?? Olly's asked us to print a few leaflets for the Slayer's Cake as well, but in my opinion this is far too saucy to be read over a cinnamon roll. If you can get a few dozen printed I'll find somewhere to put them. Maybe I'll sneak them in with the rye loaves. Anyone who eats rye bread could use a little spice in their life.
> 
> love and kisses, as always xo  
> Taryon Darrington

_A thrilling excerpt from Oleander Wick’s scintillating epic of forbidden love…_

She stood at the doors of the Dawnfather’s church, tears threatening to burst from her eyes. Cecilia knew that if she climbed the stairs then, she would be leaving her soul behind, stranded on the dusty road. She could keep her true feelings secret no longer. If she gave into Archibaldson's demands now, it would be as good as stabbing Truth in the heart, and leaving Her to die bleeding in the streets.

With a gasp, Cecilia cast the dress down at her feet. The white sleeves fluttered past her like the feathers of at least twelve doves. “I cannot,” she cried, “I cannot! Please, Archibaldson – have mercy – you cannot keep showering me with these beautiful gifts – not when you know I do not love you!”

“But I love you, Cecilia!” he pleaded, grasping both her hands. “And you will come to love me in time, I know it! Will you not give me a chance?”

She tore her hands away. “I have given my heart a hundred chances to fly to you, and every time, it has flown elsewhere!”

Cecilia clapped both her hands over her shapely mouth. She realized what she had said, but she had realized it four words too late.

Archibaldson stared at her, his flinty eyes suddenly as hard as stony granite. “Do you mean to say, Cecilia, that you are-“ he swallowed, and his lips trembled under his blond moustache, “-in love with another?”

“Yes,” she breathed. Her hands fell to her ample bosom. Tears began to tumble down her ivory cheeks.

“Who? Who is the man or woman who has taken you from me, Cecilia?” Archibaldson hissed.

“I am not a thing to be taken,” Cecilia proclaimed. “I have a choice!”

“Do you?!” Archibaldson interrupted with sudden gusto. He stepped forward, leaving muddy bootprints on the fallen dress, showing that he did not care at all for his luscious gifts. They were disposable to him - dwarfed by the size of his desires. He loomed over Cecilia, and repeated, “Do you really, Cecilia? Can you afford to refuse me, after your mother mysteriously disappeared when you were six thereby leaving your father with thousands of gold in debt that he cannot possibly pay off through his humble profession as a shoe-seller?”

Cecilia gasped, “How dare you! Do you think I will marry you just because you own all the land from here to the Silvercrown River – just because you are wealthy enough to provide me and my extended family with financial stability? No – I will save my family on my own, and I will give my heart to the man I truly love!”

“How will you do that, Cecilia? With your ‘gift’?”

She stepped back, as if he had slapped her – and in a metaphorical, emotional way, he had.

Archibaldson was referring to her visions. Of course. Maybe that was what he wanted all along! Aside from being unconventionally pretty, clever, expressive, and genuinely good-hearted, nothing was remarkable about Cecilia at all except for her visions.

She cursed them under her breath - damn those vague, hazy dreams of the future. Her father called her dreams blessings of the Dawnfather. Like the sun-crowned god, he said, Cecilia would always pursue the brightest path toward the future. That was why the Dawnfather showed her only beautiful dreams...only glimpses of happy endings.

Damn the Dawnfather too, she thought, damn him through every Circle of Hell and back again – what good was a picture of happiness, when she did not have the money or the will to obtain it? Archibaldson was right. Her father’s debt would be hers one day, and she would collapse beneath its crushing weight like a delicate, exotic orchid.

And the Dawnfather was not with her now. The distant clouds had rolled in, black and heavy, over His glorious church. A summer storm was on the way, the kind foretold by electricity in the air and above-average humidity. A droplet of rain landed on the white dress below their feet – then another, in the ringlets of her luscious amber-coloured hair – then another, curving over her slender shoulder, down her arm, along her wrist, until it fell from the tip of her pinkie finger and to the ground. As the plink-plink-plink of raindrops began to grow louder, Archibaldson drew closer and closer, his sharp features twisted in a sneer.

“Face the truth, Cecilia,” he sneered. “You are beautiful, but you are desperate – and choice is the privilege of the rich. Your heart does not have the luxury of choice. But once you are married to me-" his sneer grew into a smirk "-you can choose anything you want.”

“Married?” she echoed, her lips trembling.

“Yes,” he sighed, and he captured her chin with his narrow fingers. “Perhaps you will even choose to be in love with me, instead of this…mysterious thief. I call him that because he has stolen your affections from the man who truly deserves them.”

His fingers were cold and hard, although the rain was warm, and the air was alive with static. Cecilia felt another tear slide down her cheek, mingling with the rain.

And then, clear as the bell sounding from the Dawnfather’s church, she heard someone call her name. _Cecilia._ Only it was long, drawn out, like it had been whispered upon the wind, and pulled apart across a thousand miles. _Ceciiiiiliiiiaaaaaaaah_.

She turned away, tugging her chin from Archibaldson’s hand. But there was nothing – no one else outside the temple – and across the road, the rolling hills of Archibaldson's vineyard faded into the distance, the rain washing down upon row after row of grapevines.

But she heard it again, and it had the same rippling, warbling quality as her visions, and the same promise of happiness within it – _Cecilia, Cecilia, where are you?_

And though the voice was distorted, and though a crack of thunder split the cry in half, she recognized the speaker. That was the same deep, velvety voice she had first heard three years ago, by the Silvercrown River. It was the same voice that had called to her from outside her father’s humble store. She had heard it cry out in anguish, when he had rescued her single-handedly from the rampaging owlbear, and she had heard it whisper seductively in the harvest festival sunset.

“Oskar,” she breathed. As if she were in a dream, she drifted down the steps, stumbling slightly, for they had grown slippery with rain.

“What?” Archibaldson growled. “Who is Oskar, Cecilia? Is that his name?”

Cecilia did not answer; she descended the steps, her bright green eyes fixated on the thunderclouds above, enchanted by the storm that had spoken in his velvety baritone voice. “Where are you?” she whispered to the clouds, searching them for a sign.

Behind her, Archibaldson ranted, “I’ll find the bastard! I’ll find this Oskar, and I’ll string him up for taking you from me-!”

Cecilia whispered, “Shut up.”

Stunned, Archibaldson fell silent. Cecilia had reached the end of the steps, and stepped onto the road. Suddenly, a flash of lightning cracked almost directly overhead, followed by a boom of thunder, and as if she were a mule struck by a whip, Cecilia broke into a run. She sprinted across the road, which had turned from dust to mud in the first half-minute of rain. At the opposite end, the road tumbled down into a ditch, and then there was nothing beyond that but vineyards

Her silken slippers were already soaked through, and they were not made for running. They plunged into the mud, and they stuck. Cecilia let out a cry, as if she had been wounded; but she wrenched her feet free from the slippers, leaving them behind in a pair of puddles. She started to run again, yelling, “Oskar! Wait!”

She leaped across the ditch, tearing the seam of her skirt with the force of her extraordinary jump. She ran down the nearest row of vines, her bare toes squelching in the rich soil. Archibaldson's cries faded behind her, and he did not give chase, probably not wanting to get mud on his clothes.

Cecilia ran, half-blind by the rain, not sure where she was going, or if she was getting closer to her love – she knew only that he was calling her. She followed no direction, just an unknowable impulse, like her soul was a salmon impaled on a fishhook, and Oskar was reeling her in with his powerful arms.

It made no sense whatsoever, but she knew - she knew he would be there, in the vineyards – somewhere!

Cecilia ran and ran, and soon the Dawnfather's temple disappeared completely in the storm, and she could barely see the next hill in front of her. Her feet were spattered with rich soil and mud from running. Her thighs burned, but not so bright as her heart, which was blazing for Oskar. The rain soaked through her skirt, until the thin fabric of her yellow dress was slicked to her long, shapely legs, and her tight bodice had become nearly translucent.

She did not know how long she ran, but she could not run forever. As the afternoon grew darker, exhaustion overcame her, and she slowed, her lungs burning. Cecilia looked left, and then right, and seeing only rain, rain, more rain, and lots of grapes – she collapsed where she was, falling to all fours in the dirt, and sobbing. She was exhausted. She did not even have the breath left to call for help, and she slumped over and cried.

The storm raged on, the lightning striking overhead, and Cecilia felt her eyes begin to flutter shut. Even though it was a warm, summery storm, she was still drenched, and that was making her shiver – probably because she was so willowy and slender, she thought. Perhaps she should have eaten more for breakfast, or worn heavier clothes.

Her eyes fluttered shut again, and her consciousness began to leave her...

...Suddenly, a broad, warm hand landed upon her shoulder. Cecilia flinched in reaction, but she was too weak to fight it. She shivered in silence, accepting her fate. Whoever had found her was strong, and he rolled her over, gathering her up into his arms and lifting her seemingly without effort.

Cecilia coughed weakly, and opened her eyes to look at her saviour. A strong, chiseled jaw, skin as green as the vineyard leaves around them, and eyes bright yellow like two bumblebees. And between his faintly smiling lips, she could see the points of two stout ivory tusks.

“Hey there,” Oskar growled. “Not the best place for a nap.”

“Oskar,” she sighed, and rested her head against his bicep. Cecilia would have cried with relief, but she had cried for several hours already and was severely dehydrated.

“Hush,” he said, his deep voice rumbling sensually through her body. “I’ve got you.”

“Do you, Oskar?” she whimpered, lifting her slender hand to touch his chiseled jaw, and trace one of his tusks with the pad of her thumb. “Do you? Do you _promise?_ ”

Although Oskar was mostly a gruff, anguished, standoffish type who hardly ever spoke more than five words at once, he melted the instant Cecilia touched his tusk. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “I swear,” he said.

"Take me away from here," she whispered, and she shut her eyes again, leaning against his powerful chest. His arms were so broad and strong. He could have snapped her in half as easy as breathing. Cecilia had never felt safer, and so she drifted off to sleep as Oskar carried her through the fields, and to their secret place by the river where no one would find them..........

**Author's Note:**

> T-
> 
> This is tripe and you know it. You could improvise a better romance drunk & blindfolded (and in fact I think you have). I suggest packaging these with the dinner rolls, assuming the wrappings don't have something more interesting scribbled on them.
> 
> Knowing Olly's fanbase this will make twice as much as his last balderdash. What a world we live in.
> 
> Could you bring some of those cinnamon bear claws back with you from the Cake? If we're going to get rich off of garbage, we might as well get fat from it too.
> 
> -L


End file.
